Fire and Ice
by Thibodeaux
Summary: Becoming a collection of one shots. All revolving around the theme of rooftops. A chapter for each month. romy "she whispered in a voice that reminded him of cool water- quenching his scorched throat."
1. June

Disclaimer: I do not own any x-men nor am I using this for profit.

Normally summers in Bayville where characterized with warm pleasant days that eased gently into cool relaxing nights. However, the past week had marked an unprecedented heat wave. Nights were hot and stifling, offering little relief to the mutants who inhabited Xavier's Institute for Gifted Youngsters.

Despite growing up in the heat of Mississippi, Rogue found herself unable to sleep. Her over talkative roommate Kitty had fallen asleep easily hours before after explaining- "The only way to beat the heat is to, like, just ignore it."

Clad only in a green camisole and navy sleeping shorts which had the institute's emblem emblazoned across the thigh, Rogue twisted about uncomfortably in her bed. She briefly grabbed a book of Nabokov's short stories and attempted to read before throwing the book aside with a disgusted sigh.

Staring enviously at her roommate, the Southerner realized that sleep just wasn't in the cards for the night. Tiptoeing out of her room, as not to wake her friend, Rogue abandoned her twisted and sweaty sheets in search of a way to cool down.

She walked down to the kitchen, and spent several heavenly minutes in the arctic temperatures of the walk-in refrigerator. After pondering her options of ice cream and sorbet, Rogue ignored the sweet and icy treats for something far more simple- she filled her favorite clear glass mug up to the brim with ice cubes.

With cool cubes cupped her in hand, she strode quickly back to her jointly-shared room. Her fingers deftly unlatched their window, and in several fluid motions she was out of their cramped and overheated room and onto the rooftop.

Rogue guessed that it was probably against the rules to be on the roof- but it was one of the few places she could think clearly in the mansion. Neither the professor nor Logan had said anything about it; both with a silent understanding that it had been her private meditation sessions on the roof that had helped her obtain control over her powers.

Rogue sat quietly on the rough rooftop, listening to the summer cicadas, a cool cube of ice melting luxuriously on her tongue. Sighing contently, she leaned back, lying down comfortably with her hands beneath her head. Gazing at the stars she laughed softly as she remembered the child's rhyme Irene had taught her back down in the South.

"Star light, star bright, first star Ah see tonight… wish Ah may, wish Ah might, to have the wish Ah wish tonight…"

Rogue whispered the words slowly, with a gentle smile on her face. Irene had always told her that if she wished aloud, then her wish wouldn't come true. Keeping with that tradition, she silently wished in her head.

"Wish what, chere?"

A deep voice, strongly flavored with a Cajun accent, abruptly startled her from her reverie.

She gasped and sat up in one sudden movement. "Swamp rat!"

"Oui, the one and only." The male southerner replied as he crouched next to her.

Rogue glared at her companion, his red on black eyes glowed back at her. He was dressed only in a worn pair of jeans and threadbare t-shirt which was made of more memory than cloth.

"What the hell are ya doin' here?" she accused angrily. "You're not even on our team! Ya have no right to just waltz onto your enemies' rooftop during a heat wave! This is my private spot!"

Remy made soothing gestures with his hands. "Easy there, pichouette. Y' don't have to be a member of the X-squad to appreciate the best view in town. All the other buildings are far too low."

Truth be told, the Cajun had been frequenting the rooftop for months, long before his chere had started coming up there. The fact that she had decided to make it her own spot had made it all the more appealing to him. He had spent many a night there, counting the stars and renaming the constellations. It helped him unwind in a way that no other release could.

"Fine, whatever. It's too hot to argue with you right now." Normally Rogue wouldn't have given in to him so easily… but it was so damn hot and he did smell so good… a fiery mixture of cinnamon and cayenne pepper. She lay back down after popping a fresh piece of ice in her mouth.

Remy lay down next to her, lazily asking," So, chere, what did you wish for just then?"

Rogue grinned, she was already associating with the enemy, making conversation couldn't hurt. After all, they had reached a tenuous type of friendship so many months ago when he had kidnapped her and took her down to New Orleans.

"Ah can't tell you, if ah do then it won't come true."

To her surprise, her companion chuckled. "Oui, I remember that… Tante Mattie always used t' tell me that when I was just a petit garcon. Mais, y' can't blame an homme for tryin'."

They fell into a comfortable silence after that. Both lost in their own thoughts as they gazed at the glinting stars. Their breathing became slowly in sync as they lay there quietly. Remy felt contentment at the given moment; he inhaled her intoxicating scent of strawberries and violets, relieved that she had yet to truly protest his presence.

Rogue wasn't sure who initiated it- but their two hands had been slowly creeping towards one another. They continued to lie in silence until he suddenly grasped her hand. Much to his shock, there were no complaints from Rogue.

Rogue's heart began to pound. Here she was, fraternizing with the enemy! Holding his hand! Yet, she couldn't bring herself to pull away.

After what seemed like an eternity later, Remy broke their contact with a sigh of regret. Keeping his eyes closed, he explained-

"I apologize, ma chere, mais I must get back to the apartment, maybe get some sleep."

He failed to see the mischievous grin that spread across Rogue's face. She sat up, and leaning over him, initiated a slow, languorous kiss.

After a moment of shock, Remy's eyes jolted open. Red on black met emerald green with an equal and startling ardor. He responded, turning the soft kiss into a hard and passionate one. He entwined his fingers in her soft brown hair, pulling her closer to him.

Rogue moaned softly, gently easing her tongue into his willing mouth. They were both consumed with the want- the need to be closer.

Just as abruptly as she had initiated the kiss- Rogue broke it off. "If ya need to get sleep, I certainly won't stop ya" she told him with a saucy grin on her face. Grabbing her now empty mug, she delicately climbed over the side of the roof and back into the mansion.

Remy stood there, heart pounding, the heat of the night matched the hot blood of his veins, flushing his cheeks. His lips still burned from their kiss, yet his mouth remained cool. Her deft tongue had tucked a sliver of ice into his mouth, without him ever noticing. He savored the silvery piece as it melted against his hot lips, and leaped off the roof like the master thief he was- and wished silently up to the stars…

"Wish I may… wish I might… that this not be the last piece of ice this summer."

**Author's note: So, this is my first foray back into writing fanfiction after many years. Hopefully my writing style has improved. Well, reviews are definitely welcome, duh. I'm thinking this might be a one shot, but maybe not. On a different note, I've been trying to find a romy fiction that I read and loved years ago. Maybe a fellow fan knows it's title? This might all sound vague, but I believe Rogue is a celestial being and Remy is a demon in it. They meet up on some plane of existence and there's some type of celestial war brewing. Of course, they get stuck together and wind up falling in love. Does any of that ring a bell? If so, I'd love it if you told me it's title… Danke!**


	2. March

Disclaimer: I don't own…. Obviously.

Rogue had always hated March. Back in Mississippi March has always meant mud- dark sticky and clinging- there was a reason the ice cream flavor Mississippi mud was called thus. Now that she lived in New York March meant cold windy days and damp, cloudy nights. March was stark. March was bitter. If Rogue could have chosen a single word to define March she definitely would have decided on "lonely."

Clad in dark jeans, a black lace t-shirt, and a quilted hunter green hoodie, Rogue sat on the rooftop of the institute, legs dangling over the edge. At well past two in the morning, all other residents of Xavier's were long asleep.

All the lights were out. Gazing into the darkened town of Bayville, it was easy for her to imagine she was the only person left in the whole world. A single denizen wandering through the eternal night, haunted by the soft murmurs and breathing of those asleep.

Reaching into her pocket, she took out a cigarette. She twisted it gently between her thumb and pointer finger- it felt as light and delicate as a bird's bone. After lighting up with a compact silver lighter in a single deft motion, she inhaled, sucking in the spicy smoke.

She exhaled slowly, breathing out whirls of pale smoke and took another drag. She didn't smoke regularly, she was aware it was a filthy habit. But, days like these, when it felt like life was claustrophobic, when she felt confined and compressed- a cigarette was the only thing that calmed her. It was the only thing that prevented her from grabbing her backpack and running away, from disappearing.

"You know you really shouldn't drink those things, hein?" A deep voice startled her, drawing her from her reverie. "They say those kill."

She turned her head slowly to gaze at the newcomer to the roof. Red on black eyes flared back at her. Not acknowledging his comment, lest his presence, Rogue raised the cigarette to her mouth once more and took another languid drag. The red of his eyes flared briefly again, into a glowing vermilion. Parting her lips in to a pouting "o," she tilted her head up and deliberately blew the smoke in the direction of his face.

His 6'4'', well muscled figure was an imposing presence as he emerged from the shadows and sat next to her, in a liquid motion.

"Ignorin' me, eh?" he drawled slowly- his hand tracing the sweet line of her jaw with the lightest of touches. "Now that's no way to treat a…" he paused significantly- she tilted her head away from his, "friend."

Rogue jerked her head angrily towards his, breaking their contact. "Don't touch meh!" she spat.

"Why hein?" he leered, "scared you might absorb moi? 'cause we both know that's not true."

"Just, don't" she snapped, "don't."

"Come now, chere" he whispered angrily, this time his hand tracing a path from the tip of her neck back down her shoulder to her wrist.

Once again she drew her arm away from his angrily, and flicked the end of her now dead cigarette to the ground. "Don't touch meh, you have no right- you don't know meh."

"Don't know you, hein, pichouette?" "Don't know you?" he retorted angrily.

"No yah don't!" she spat back. "No one does, ya only have this concept of meh- ya think I'm this idea- but you don't know me. Not know. Not ever. All of yah think ya get me, but ya don't!"

"Don't know you?!" he yelled back angrily. "That's bullshit and you know it! I know you smell like laundry and clean sheets. I know that you're freckled come in pairs and I've kissed each one. I know that you don't actually like jambalaya that much and prefer hushpuppies!"

He paused abruptly. And chose to whisper instead. "You're favorite poem is "The Hollow Men" by T.S. Eliot.

He leaned in close.

"You love purple but lie and say you're favorite color is green."

His hand grabbed the side of her face.

"You're favorite movie is The Illusionist"

His eyes probed hers.

"When I have nightmares, you brush the hair out of my eyes, and stroke my face until I fall back asleep"

He brought his hand to her lips in the gentlest of touches.

"When we kiss, I don't feel sparks or lightening or any crap like that. Just your warm lips and soft skin. And something better than any romance novel or movie- since it's real."

He tilted his mouth towards her.

"I know that you were meant to take care of me just like I was meant to take care of you."

And he kissed her- hard. Lips pressing against each other with the shared of knowledge of their loneliness, a fiery kiss. Left to burn her skin. Just as much as she left him burning.


	3. August

Author's note: So, my apologies for the lack of author's note/editing on the last chapter. I typed it up in a rush and just wanted to publish the thing. I tried to take more care with this chapter. A few things I feel need clarification: these one shots are all unconnected, and do not take place in a linear sequence. If Rogue and Remy seem inconsistent in character, that's probably because they are- as a new writer I'm still playing around with a variety of different writing styles and different settings for this couple. I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to do something consistently…. And then a quick note about those who seemed concerned about Rogue's aggressiveness in the prior chapter- the two of them have a TON of intimacy issues (at least my version of them), so if one of them feels threatened (as Rogue did) by a certain level of closeness, then they're going to try to get the other to back the eff off. Although, I did try to make this chapter a bit less intense. And now I must apologize for an excessive author's note. Oh well. I hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: I still don't own. Also, I think I quote a movie at some point in this, but I'm not sure which one, so I don't own that either. What a pity.

* * *

August

Remy Lebeau did not sleep well. He was unsurprised by this fact- a childhood on the streets, an adolescence among the Thieves Guild coupled with periodic intervals spent in the hands of Dr. Sinister, and the years working under Magneto could all easily explain the unease with which he slept.

Yet he was not plagued with nightmares of the various horrors he had encountered. He was woken night after night by the same haunting dream.

The dog days of August always exacerbated his sleeping problems. The hot, humid air clung to his skin, dampening his flesh with sticky, relentless fingers. He had stripped down to merely his boxers- he had abandoned sleeping in the nude after one emergency midnight mission, hours earlier. Yet, the combination of his minimal clothing with his sheets seemed unbearable.

Twisting and turning, he writhed silently, caught in the tangles of his nightmare once again.

Rogue sat across on the roof- gazing into his room. The heat of August also held her tightly within its grasp, she had clambered onto the roof a little under an hour ago, in an attempt to breathe some fresh air. She was honestly surprised that her boyfriend was not already on the roof. After all, they had met up there more times than she could count.

When he failed to make his appearance, she chose to check the window of his room. Brushing sweaty brown and white locks out of her face, she had peered into his room and watched his restless sleep.

Despite the encounters the two shared on the rooftop and the various activities the participated in together over the course of the day, neither had actually been in the other one's room. Xavier's Institute did have a strict no members of the opposite sex in the other's room, gleefully enforced by the wolverine.

Rogue had spent the past three quarters of the hour involved with an internal struggle- she wanted to wake Remy from his restless slumber, yet did not want to violate his innermost sanctuary. This view from the rooftop was the closest she had ever been to inside his room.

After spending several more minutes watching the Cajun thrash about in his bed, she abandoned all caution. Sliding up his window, she crept silently into his room.

She paused briefly, taking in this unfamiliar territory with bold interest. The walls of the room were white, matching the tangled comforter and sheets on the bed. An old alarm clock cast ghastly green numbers across the room. The only hints to his personality lay in the dog-eared book about WWI which lay next to the alarm clock on the bedside table, and a snapshot of the two of them tucked in the mirror.

She reflected briefly on both items. Remy was a voracious fan of US history, capable of naming all of the presidents in chronological order, and able to discuss the logistics of each era (he enjoyed the flappers and speakeasies of the roaring twenties and the earlier era of the 1870s when Boss Tweed ran Tammany Hall.) He had tried to explain his fascination with history to her once- "Pichouette, it's all so cool! Lotsa crazy merde had to go down to get this country started… did you know that one of the presidents had a mullet?"

She rolled her eyes thinking back on the conversation. Rogue had always been a bigger fan of math and science, where she knew everything had an explanation and a reason.

She examined the second item, frowning slightly. It was a photo of the two of them- she was smirking and blowing him a kiss while he gazed intensely back at her. Rogue was unsure of where or when the photo had been taken, it was just a simple moment that could have easily occurred any time or any place for them.

She turned her attention back to the lanky form of Remy Lebeau. Although he was no longer thrashing about, the look on his face showed anything but peacefulness. Frowning once more, she approached his bed, wanting only to ease tormented look from his face.

In a mood bold enough to shock even her, (she paused for a split second thanking the lucky stars that his mutation counteracted hers) she crept into bed with him.

He lay on his side, and she quickly nestled into his embrace, so that they lay heart to heart, her head tucked neatly beneath his chin and in the crook of his neck. With the gentlest of all touches, she stroked the creases of his brow.

He startled awake and quickly pulled her into a tight embrace, pressing her closely against his chest.

"Pichouette-" he rasped softly.

"Shh, cher, it's just me" she said softly, reaching up a hand to stroke his cheek gently. "It was just a dream."

He blinked painfully, scrunching up the devilish eyes she had come to love. "I dreamed of a charred city". He paused heavily, the fragments of his nightmare still tormenting him. He pulled her even closer, as if scared she might disappear and leave him to dark dreams.

"There were angels, vast and terrible. They had fiery swords."

He paused again, and then gulped. "It wasn't hell- not yet. But I knew they were coming for me. They were angels sent to avenge. There were no merciful angels."

This time when he paused she traced her thumb down over his jaw line and across his lips; the pad of her finger touching his flesh with the delicacy of a whispered promise.

"The sky was red and smoky. The buildings completely destroyed. Nothing but ash and flames, burning and suffocating—"

She tilted her head up to his and silenced him with a soft kiss. "Ah'm here now" she whispered in a voice that reminded him of cool water- quenching his scorched throat.

He shut his eyes briefly and for a moment looked like a scared little boy- long eyelashes casting a tremulous shadow on his cheek.

"Ah'm here now"- she reiterated, punctuating her statement with another soft kiss.

Her lips tasted of the first strawberries he had ever tasted, a wild sweetness that he had stolen from a vendor on the streets of New Orleans.

He nuzzled his nose against her in an Eskimo kiss. He spoke, all the while holding her as close as he could.

"Pichouette, let's go somewhere."

"Where?"

"Anywhere" he replied, leaning in for another brief kiss.

"What would we do?"

"Anything"- he stole another sweet kiss.

"ok" she whispered softly.

"ok" he whispered back, smiling.

They would pack up a few backpacks soon, steal a car, and head off for a few days. They'd drive away from his nightmares and her doubts. But for now, he simply held her.

"ok."

Thoughts? Like I said earlier, I'm still playing around with a variety of writing styles and settings for the one shots. Although, I'm kind of tempted to turn this one shot into a story. Eh, I dunno. Next up: Something a little lighter perhaps? Maybe a day at the beach. Or carnival. Or more semi-angst, since that's what I gravitate towards.


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